duplicity inbox / cw for nsfw shenanigans.

[unlawful]

TEXT / VOICE / VIDEO / ACTION NOTE: felix generally responds to everything in text, even voice or video calls. expect 90% of his replies to be text-based regardless of urgency.

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crais — the up: subversion, action.

[unlawful]

FROM HERE.

( duplicity's border control runs surprisingly loose. felix makes it into the up without a single frisk, on his merry way following a simple scan of his device and a loaded gun tucked into his back waistband, safety very pointedly on. subversion isn't terribly difficult to locate, nor is crais, who cuts a pretty figure in a crowded room; he'd recognize that perfectly groomed face anywhere. and those fucking shoulders.

first things first: he slides in next to crais silently, angling his body toward him and leaning an elbow onto the bartop. his order — whiskey neat — is accompanied by a deliberate downward sweep of his lashes and silky smile, a hint of teeth directed at the bartender, venomously coy.

always heavily fortified, even in his civvies. )

Captain. ( with all the annoying irreverence of a man who's never followed a direct order in his life. he throws his whiskey back in one swallow like a good high-functioning alcoholic, stone-faced and steady. fuck. that's so much better than the shit he conned off some poor asshole in the down.

felix licks an errant drop of whiskey from the rim of the glass, then slides it back across the bartop and turns all his attention on crais. )

I like you better undressed.

[notleavingquietly]

[Crais is, as always, dressed in black and red. At this time of year, his clothing is linen rather than leather, but there's still something very military about it - clean, simple lines, high collar, precision in the creases down the front of his pants and the way his cuffs are turned back to just below his elbows. Perfectly groomed goatee, hair tightly back with the length bound all the way down and that hiding a fairly massive scar at the back of his neck.

He tosses back his Fireball (because bright red and reeking of cinnamon is delicious, and he has nothing to prove) then pays the bar tender and turns to give Felix a slow look over. ]

I don't like you at all. [ Probably. Wouldn't admit it if he did. ] I also don't care what your opinion of this is: I want a safeword from you. If you don't already have one, now is the time to make one up.

[unlawful]

( that's fair. most people don't like him, and the ones that think they like him only think they know him. doesn't matter to him. simpler, in fact, to have all his cards neatly laid on the figurative table, so everyone knows what to expect. )

Locust. ( immediately, without a hitch or pause to consider his answer. locust. it just rolls right off the tongue, like locus, like ortez, like sam. ) You know what that is? Creepy little insect back on Earth, one of the ten biblical plagues representing death and destruction. Seems hella lame in theory, but they've got a nasty appetite. Allegedly.

( a nasty appetite. a gift for wreaking ruthless havoc and mayhem, no prisoners, no survivors. fuck locus(ts).

crais is too put-together. it reminds felix of the officers who lived and breathed their entire military lives in space aboard massive frigates that wandered from one slipspace rupture to the next, chasing the covenant's trail of fire and glass, the barren ruins of dead planets. crisp. tightly laced. kinda claustrophobic. the impulse to do something entirely indecent with his hands is maddening, so he hooks his thumb into crais' emptied glass and idly circles the rim.

breezily, )

Do I get yours, or is this a one-sided affair?

[notleavingquietly]

[ Well, the military officer who spent his career and life mostly in space part is an accurate enough read of him.

He listens to that entire explanation - and no, he's never heard of the things, and doesn't even mind hearing all those words, when he only asked for one. It's an interesting bit of trivia.

He hears the question, then waits just another beat or two - like he's making very sure Felix is finished. ]

Mango. It's fruit.

[ He taps two fingers down on the bar draw Felix's attention.]

My ride home is the guy who looks like Ephemera, minus scars and six feet tall. He'll be somewhere in the club. [ No need to have the paranoid psycho figure that out and react badly because he thinks it's being hidden. ]

Let's go find a room to work out exactly how not one sided this is going to be.

[ He slides off the barstool, key already in his pocket. ]

[unlawful]

( what.

it's a lot of words that sound like nothing, at first, exactly five full seconds of processing before his brain comprehends the layout and order of what's being said. looks like ephemera, somewhere in the club. that mouthy motherfucking songbird. he knew it. )

Is that right.

( felix learned his lesson with crais the first time, in a transitory and relatively meaningless exchange that wouldn't have mattered to anyone except him: flinch and he pulls back, you lose ground gained. he doesn't flinch, smoothly pivoting on his heel to assess the club with a cursory scan. a combination of dim lights and too many goddamn people means he can't make heads or tails of most faces that aren't within his direct line of sight. that guy in the corner, head half-cocked toward him? could be his ride, could be some random asshole.

could be bluffing, too. probably not. during their first meeting crais told him, verbatim, that his mother would rip his dick off, and men like that don't generally mince words or waste threats, different species be damned. some things don't change regardless of physiology. comfortable, reliable constants.

fuck it, then. he has nothing of value on him beyond his sidearm, and no one in this shithole dies for real anyway. he's already died once. he knows how to do that just fine.

he follows crais, shadowing his back. )

You didn't tell me we had a mutual friend in common.

[notleavingquietly]

[ He leads the way with ease that implies far more familiarity with Subversion than he actually has. He doesn't tense or look back when Felix falls in at his back, but he hasn't forgotten the 'never unarmed' remark, either. ]

It wasn't relevant.

[ He fits retrieves the key from his shirt pocket and opens the door, reaches through to turn the light on and then steps inside. It's a very basic room - equipped, furnished, and with options, but it isn't one of the wilder spaces by Duplicity's standards. ]

It became relevant as a common frame of reference for a description. Neither of us will have a good time if you spook at my Dominant.

[unlawful]

( it's a little relevant given his tumultuous history with ephemera, but whatever. you stab a guy one time and he talks mad shit for the rest of his life and/or lives.

he hums, noncommittal, at that piece of information and glides past him into the room. his dominant, the stranger-slash-doppelganger somewhere in the club, good to know even if he doesn't know who the fuck that is. out of sight, out of mind. )

You have no idea what I consider a good time.

( the room is clean, simple, only one way in and one way out. felix shrugs out of his jacket, discarded carelessly on the back of a chair on his way across the room, and stops near a small table. a place to put little belongings. a place to fuck someone, maybe. potential cover, if that becomes necessary. anything is possible in the city of dreams.

he draws his gun and tucks his thumb across the grip, both hands raised in poised surrender. )

Safety's on. See? ( as he angles his hand, displaying the receiver of his sidearm to crais, the safety clicked in place. he sets it down on the table. ) I'll leave it here, as a courtesy. But just so we're absolutely, 1000% clear: I don't particularly enjoy being caught with my pants down, kinda sensitive about it, actually, it's a whole thing.

( a whole thing that tends to get him killed. )

So if our little rendezvous goes south, it's important to me that you fully understand I don't need a weapon to fuck shit up.

( it's just a bonus. cards on the table, again. )

[notleavingquietly]

[ It feels performative to Crais.

Not that he doubts that Felix would absolutely use that gun given a reason - and not necessarily a good reason - but it feels like... a display. Like some small animal hackling up and showing its teeth.

It feels defensive.

That makes it - and Felix - more dangerous rather than less. Still reads more as brittle, sharp, fragility rather than an actual display of strength. ]

I don't care if you keep the gun in your hand. [ Just frank, though the safety had better stay on. He says that while he goes, sits and starts matter of factly unlacing his boots. ] Now, forget flexible. Do you want to be hurt, to hurt someone, or just sex?

[unlawful]

( not the reaction he was expecting.

he flexes his hand over his sidearm, stroking his thumb along the receiver. for a second he says nothing, watching in silence as crais nimbly unlaces his boots. it's a second too long for someone whose mind turns in steady rhythm with all his reflexes, an uncertainty edged in raw discomfort. feels too much like some long-buried instinct twitching to life on the field after years in reserve, uncomfortably primal.

still human after all, but this guy. not human. right. not predictable like most people, either. )

Okay. ( and then he's back on track, picking up where he left off, airy and light. he lifts his hand from his sidearm and steps away because he said he was going to leave it on the table, so he's going to fucking leave it on the table. ) You wanna talk boundaries. Sure.

( he bends his leg at the knee, arching back to unlace his boots one at a time and kick them off into a corner haphazardly. )

I don't like being fucked on my front. I'll fuck you on your front if that's what gets you off, but I personally don't like giving anyone my back, and I don't like anyone fondling the nape of my neck like they're the pope blessing me with inner peace and love or whatever the fuck the pope does in that giant hat of his all day.

( the implant, overwhelmingly sensitive and fragile out of armor, connected to his brainstem at the base of his neck.

he eases to his knee in front of crais, curving his hand under his calf and wiggling his foot out of his boot, set neatly aside near the foot of the bed. his hand slides higher once he's finished, following a crease in his pant-leg to the inside of his knee and smoothing it with his thumb. one little imperfection erased away.

he looks up at crais, rocking onto his haunches. )

You can hurt me if you want. Slapping, choking, bite the fuck out of me, make me bleed a little, all aces, love it, go for it. I'll hurt you if you want, too, but I need specifics on where to stop.

[notleavingquietly]

[ Nape of the neck - your spine's there and he's certainly snapped necks in his life to know how vulnerable that is.

He snorts at that, and looks up from setting his boots neatly under the chair he's sitting on. ]

Stay away from the back of my neck.

[ Superficially the same reason. In reality that's a deep, nasty, scar from his recently removed interface, and therefore feels even more vulnerable to him. Worse right now - it's intimate in a way fucking isn't. ]

Biting and scratching is fine. Slap me and I'll leave. [ That's a warning, calculated to be something more than physical or show. ] Act like you want it to stop and it also stops.

[ He eyes up Felix, working out sizing and positioning and- ]

You can ride me. I'll bite and choke you. Go pick up your gun and hold onto it. It just became the safeword for breathplay.

[unlawful]

Oh shit, can I?

( rapid-fire, only mildly sardonic. asshole.

he straightens to his feet and swings back to his gun, hooking his index finger inside the trigger guard and twirling it once into his palm. it's a mild comfort, but not for the reason one might anticipate. a token from the war, carried with him when he abandoned reach to the covenant and their plasma bombs. his only memento. )

No slapping, don't touch the neck, don't be a pitiful bitch. Got it. ( he leans his hip into the table, crossing his legs at the ankle. and then because he can't help it: ) How do you know Ephemera?

[notleavingquietly]

[ He snorts and leans back slightly, head cocked ever so slightly to the side. ]

We live in Duplicity and he tried to stab me once. If you're looking for more than the very obvious answer, you're going to need to ask much more specific questions.

[unlawful]

( ha. )

Yeah, he's good at that. Real jack-of-all-trades, that one.

( he could ask more, what he is to him, what he's said about felix, but none of it matters. they're still here, in this room, and crais isn't an objective or asset felix needs to recover. no damage control necessary. this is an exchange, like money for liquor, like a hit for money, one hard orgasm for another. business. so, forget it. let it go.

back into his space, then, across the room to the chair he's seated on. he nudges his leg between crais' knees and eases closer, gripping the back of his chair with his free hand. the sidearm stays down, by his side. )

Anything else you want to discuss before we get started?

[notleavingquietly]

[ He can almost feel this guy's mind flipping back and forth between wanting to know more and then deciding it doesn't matter.

It's a wild ride, even from the outside and he's sort of enjoying the freedom that comes with reverting back to 'Peacekeeper'. Frell, it's not only a kind of freedom it's simpler, and that is a thought he does not care to pursue right now. It would defeat the purpose. ]

The only other thing I want to discuss is whether you're taking your own pants off, or I'm taking them off you.

[unlawful]

Whatever gets you hottest, Crais. ( first time he's said his name since he gave it to him in the camp. it's a pleasant sound, smooth consonants. ) I'll get to it in a minute if you don't.

( for now, he cages him under his arm, elbow resting on his shoulder, and slants his mouth against his throat, licking into his pulse above his high collar. a brief, sharp bite, testing the softest limits of his skin, how breakable he is in comparison to felix, and then his teeth scrape higher, trailing the curve of his jaw to his ear.

tastes and feels human enough, too. salty. soft, like he'll bruise. )

[notleavingquietly]

[ Oh, he'll bruise. His skin will break.

He's also solid as hell and at the moment that includes his mental state. That should not be mistaken for a health one, but a confident, secure, absolutely stable one?Yes.

He doesn't mind being pinned against the chair, and he doesn't mind the mouth at his throat. Tear at him, he's good with it. Don't tear at him, this feels good too and combined with the weight over him he is definitely hard.

He snorts inelegantly at the remark, gets his hands between them and matter of factly and without a single bit of hesitation or dissembling puts his hands to good use in getting Felix the hell out of his clothes. Not rough, not gentle, just direct. ]

[unlawful]

( straightforward.

it's familiar. felix has a type: irritable and barbed, thick, men who might rip his fucking throat out at any given moment. crais is several inches short of his normal type, but his normal type isn't here, and that's a thought he's not going to entertain right now because fuck that and fuck ortez. he leans away to help him with the rest of his clothes as crais works on his trousers, pulling his shirt over the back of his head and tossing it aside.

then he's bare, lean and compact, lithely flexible but strong. ten long years of service for his people, from seventeen to twenty-seven, has left him scarred in places, scattered over his body like constellations – bullet and bomb shrapnel, several searing burns from an energy weapon. a newer scar, on his shoulder, from ephemera when he stabbed him in the elevator. felix hikes his knee onto crais' chair and pries his legs apart with his thigh, hooking the hand with the gun over his shoulder.

crais' shirt is his next task, popped open at the collar. his teeth find his shoulder the second he sights skin, tongue laving over the mark and following a muscled tendon into his throat. higher, to his mouth, and felix kisses him, sharp and coaxing, always greedy.

his hand moves between them, popping the fly on crais' trousers and working his thumb down the zipper. )

Do you like having your hair pulled, or is that a no-no? ( with a little lick to his mouth, his teeth catching his bottom lip. )

[notleavingquietly]

[ Sex is revealing; it tells you things about your partner (or partners), even if there's not a single bit of intimacy or emotion between you. Maybe especially if there's no intimacy or shared emotion.

Or, maybe, it's all that time as a Peacekeeper and being encouraged to fuck talking. That would certainly be what this encounter is most similar to.

He very, very faintly shivers at the attention to his throat, more so for the bite than the slick glide of Felix's tongue over skin, lifts his hands and solidly grips onto Felix's hips. Bites back at Felix's lower lip and even holds there for a second, teeth just shy of breaking skin.

Then lets go, abruptly. ]

If you want to pull my hair, pull my hair. Do you have any particular feelings about your scars being touched?

[unlawful]

( barely a shiver, but at this distance, felix feels it beat through crais like a pulse. not weakness, not exactly, but an opening, a thread of tension he can exploit with his tongue and mouth. fucking is as primeval as fighting and killing, a fused and ancient trinity in every universe, so he follows the thread back down crais' neck once he releases his bottom lip and drags his teeth into him sharply, hard enough to bruise. )

Don't give a fuck. ( about crais touching his scars, he means. he licks into the underside of his jaw, doesn't pull back to speak clearly; his words come leisured and muffled between them, against crais' skin. ) Just not the one on the back of my neck.

( the rest of them, doesn't matter. each one has a memory that felix mercilessly culled from his mind a long time ago. the implant in his neck is just sensitive and the easiest way to incapacitate him when he's not in his rig; a physical vulnerability, unattached to emotion.

his hand eases past his split fly, accompanied by a slow grind of his palm against his cock. the gun is more of an annoyance than a comfort right now. felix gingerly sets it on the arm of the chair, barrel faced away from their bodies, then busies himself with sliding crais' hair free of the binding. he grabs a silky fistful close to his scalp and jerks his head back as he shifts over him to kiss him again. )

[notleavingquietly]

[ He might tell Felix about the medical and implant scans he's done on Ephemera someday. Oh, who is he kidding, no he won't.

He's never been more curious about a scar than the one on Felix's back in his life.

He doesn't stay curious for long though. The palm grinding against his cock is nice and all but that touch doesn't have nearly the same novelty as having a hand in his hair. The intensity of sensation that comes from the grab and pull just heightens that and he groans, and meets the kiss.

He also reaches up at the same time and wraps a hand around Felix's throat. There's no huge amount of pressure, just enough that he can feel the other man's pulse in his fingertips. Absolutely dives into the kiss with his teeth as much as his tongue.

His free hand doesn't go to Felix's cock. It goes to his thigh, on the inside and rakes down toward his knee. Again just hard enough to raise heat and red lines.]

[unlawful]

( felix pulse kicks just once, chest hitching slightly. instinctive, the brain and body responding to the stimuli and threat of crais' hand around his throat. he leans into it instead of away from it, chasing the pressure, and sucks on crais' tongue before his teeth turn needle-sharp on his mouth, scraping his bottom lip unkindly. his hand twists, wrapping his hair tight around his knuckles and angling his head further back in an urgent tug.

it exposes the length of crais' throat, puts his face nearly parallel with the ceiling, and grants felix full leverage and control over his mouth, his neck. he finds his pulse again, sinking his teeth into him until he tastes a faint hint of copper and unfurls his tongue into the mark, feverish and red with abuse.

the hand between his thighs shifts deeper against his cock, then drifts away, nails dragging a path up to his navel. )

I want you on the ground. ( just like that, his mouth goes soft again, a kittenish lick near his ear, beneath the lobe. he wants him somewhere flat, spread out for felix's hands, so he can look at him as he fills himself to the brim. that's half the fun. ) Or the bed, I don't care. Gentleman's choice. I'm gonna sit on your dick until you can't fucking think.

( lesson one: felix talks, always. the best part about choking him, past hook-ups would say, is that it shuts him the fuck up. )

[notleavingquietly]

[Error: Irreparable invalid markup ('<s<small>') in entry. Owner must fix manually. Raw contents below.]

<s<small>[ Crais yields to his head being pulled back - to a point that happens to be right about when Felix stops pulling - at which point the muscles along his spine. There's no active resistance just a refusal to give further outside some serious violence.

That tension, however, is aided by the bite he can <I>feel</i> breaking skin. That sends a jolt of heat through him, and his pupils darken just a little, cock jerking <I>hard</i> against Felix as his hand moves away.

Those nails are fantastic.

Then he blinks a couple of times to refocus his gaze and his mind, and stubbornly pushes Felix back with both hands. ]</small>

Bed <small>[ He is forty-five years old, he is not fucking on the floor. ]</small>, and not in my frelling pants. Now get off me so we can make that happen.

[unlawful]

( frelling. there's that word again. such an oddly charming expletive. cute, even.

felix genuinely has no preference. floor, bed, whatever. he'll fuck in a dirty alley if it's convenient for him, sober or tanked. he releases crais' hair, dropping his hand to his shoulder, and hauls him up along with him as he rocks off the chair onto his feet.

he tilts his head toward him, curling his tongue under his top lip. )

Allow me.

( down on his knees, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of crais' trousers and pitching the fabric down his hips as he goes. he's methodic about it, practiced, like they're in the field and he's stripping crais to check for an injury. politely sets his trousers aside, then turns his face against his thigh and snags skin and muscle with his teeth, digging in hard. lots of arteries in the thighs, in a normal human. felix knows every one by heart and approximately how long it would take for someone to bleed out if severed or punctured. he wonders if crais' veins branch in a similar pattern.

he stops just short of breaking skin, one more mottled bruise to add to the list. crais responds prettily to biting. felix has already catalogued that away in his head as important information, good to know for later when he has his dick inside him. )

[notleavingquietly]

[ Similar, yes. The same, no. Too much variation in what he has in the way of internal organs (no kidneys, but an entirely different organ performing that task) and where they're located.

So, Felix's teeth definitely hurt and if Felix is looking for a pulse he'll find one, but not the strong, hot, throb that would be present in a human.

Crais is completely bemused to find himself pulled up and then Felix on his knees yanking Crais's pants down. This guy, he thinks to himself, is just a perpetual motion - and word - machine. Probably effective at keeping people thrown is also a thought, but one punctuated with exclamation marks and him grabbing Felix by the hair (well clear of the back of Felix's neck) when those teeth sink in. He lets it go a second then pulls Felix back a bit.

He needs the room to kick his trousers off.. ]

Bed.

[unlawful]

( little bit of column a, little bit of column b. felix talks because he likes to talk, mostly, but also because it keeps people guessing and sets the ball rolling down the track of his choice. the simplest way to maintain control of a situation is by tweaking its parameters as it evolves, through either physical motion or verbal hooks. neurotic control freak, one of ortez's mercs called him once; felix punched him in the throat.

half the reason he never shuts up when he's facing down ephemera, really. he's too unpredictable of a fighter, tactically flexible where felix is physically flexible. a stick of dynamite with no stem, ready to explode in his face. as much as he'd never admit it aloud, he needs the leverage.

half the reason he's not shutting up here, too. crais is unpredictable in his own way. hard to read.

felix goes easily enough despite all of this, perfectly obliging. he unwinds to his feet and spins his gun back into his hand as he crosses the room to the bed. the mattress receives a firm, testing prod with the barrel of his gun. bouncy enough. seems okay, suitable for tonight's purposes.

idly, from over his shoulder: )

Do your drag your Dom along to all your dirty hook-ups, or am I just special?